


Partners

by Daenarii



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Snowball Fight, everything is okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daenarii/pseuds/Daenarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although she'd been born in Ferelden, Amrie Surana had never really experienced snow. Thus, when she wakes up one morning to find that there is snow everywhere, she cannot keep herself from going out to enjoy it. Zevran finds himself out with her, and some fun snow activities ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

Amrie awoke, as usual, at the crack of dawn, with a simple yawn and a stretch. She sat up and poked her head out of her tent, with the intent of taking in a deep breath of fresh, morning air. What she got instead was a cold, wet blanket thrown over her.

She stared with an open mouth at the ground in front of her tent—it was white, and fluffier than it normally would be. She reached out a hesitant hand and touched the substance. It was cold and wet, like the "blanket" that had fallen on her. With a grin, she quickly retreated back into her tent, wrestling into her winter clothes before scurrying out of the tent.

She enjoyed the snow. Her steps crunched under her, much to her surprise, and her feet left footsteps, like in sand. Being locked in the Circle, Amrie could only vaguely remember snow, and she intended to make up for lost time. She glanced around the deserted camp, next to the firepit, her hands on her hips. She took in a deep lungful of the frigid air, glancing at the lightening sky. She slowly and gently walked over to an empty area of the clearing, not keen on waking the others just yet, a smile on her face. 

Some of the other apprentices that had arrived later in their lives had told Amrie and Keiara stories about snow—about how to play with it, how to stay warm, and of hot cocoa. Amrie didn't have access to any hot cocoa, but she was able to do some of the activities she vaguely remembered. She crouched down to pack some of the snow together into a ball.

"You know, I hear one usually needs a  _ partner _ to successfully do a snowball fight," a voice purred behind her.

Amrie whirled around to face the person behind her. "Zev—" she started to say, but her boot lost ground on the slippery snow, and she fell hard on her backside. "Zevran," she said, grimacing in embarrassment and rubbing her rear. "What are you doing awake so early?"

Zevran poorly hid a grin behind a fist. "Frightening lovely Grey Wardens, it seems," he said, amusement in both his voice and his eyes as he stepped closer to Amrie and offered her a hand up. "I hope you did not dent your wonderful posterior." 

"Thank you, but that doesn't answer my question," Amrie replied as she took his hand, pulling herself to her feet. "You usually don't wake until long after sunrise." 

“I heard footsteps, and thought to myself, 'If anyone should save the camp from bandits, it should be Zevran!' Though, it appears I was mistaken," he explained, flashing a somewhat sheepish grin at her. "I think I will return to my tent, if that is alright with you," he said, turning on his heel, and beginning to walk away.

"Wait," Amrie called. She glanced away as he turned to look at her, a brow raised, but her gaze returned to his. "You should stay out here," she said. "If you want," she hastily added. "With me, I mean," she quickly clarified, trying to beat back the fire on her cheeks. 

Zevran pretended to think, even as he turned to walk back towards her. "Now, that is a difficult decision—stay warm and alone in my tent, or play in the cold with a beautiful woman?"

"I believe you've already made your decision," Amrie responded with a genuine smile as he stopped in front of her.

He smiled in return, then asked, "I sincerely hope you were not planning on having a snowball fight with yourself."

"I was making a snowman," Amrie defended. "You just caught me before I actually...started."

"Ah!" Zevran exclaimed. "I see. How foolish of me, please forgive me," he quickly said, before crouching down, and packing snow into a ball, as Amrie had done earlier. "To show just how deeply I regret this mistake, let me suggest a few improvements to your snowman," he said, rolling the ball around the small area.

"Our nonexistent snowman," Amrie remarked, watching the ball grow bigger with interest.

Zevran waved his free hand dismissively. "Details," he brushed off. "Now, what if we made our snowman, a snow- _ woman _ , with a large...."

They made the snowman together, pushing the sphere of snow side-by-side until it was half as tall as Zevran and as wide around as both of them together. As they did so, Zevran continued pitching ideas to "improve" the snowman—most very vulgar, earning a grin, a silent laugh, or a playful shove from Amrie. 

When he ran out of ideas, he began telling Amrie stories of winter in Antiva, how he had only been in snow a handful of times, and even then, it had been nothing of this caliber. Amrie remarked on his adeptness at beginning the snowman, and he brushed the compliment off, attributing it to his "skillful hands." 

Before she knew it, the body of the snowman was done (sans Zevran’s ideas); it was a head taller than Zevran. All that it needed was facial features, and it would be done. 

"I do believe that Morrigan has some makeup we could use," Zevran supplied, looking at the snowman critically.

"If you want to try stealing from Morrigan, be my guest," Amrie dared. "I won't be responsible for whatever animal she turns you into."

Zevran grimaced at the thought. "On second thought, I rather like my face as it is," he said. "Perhaps we should use stones instead."

Amrie nodded her agreement. "That's a better idea," she voiced, and they split apart to gather appropriate stones.

As she bent down to retrieve a round rock, Amrie felt something slam into her rear, and immediately disintegrate, leaving a wet spot. She straightened herself and whirled around to look at a mischievously grinning Zevran. "I do so love making pretty women wet," he said with a wink. His only response was a poorly-thrown snowball.

The battle was intense and hard-fought. Amrie claimed the snowman for cover, as there were no other feasible obstacles, and she sorely needed it. Zevran had deadly aim and a very good arm, and Amrie's sore body by the end of the battle could attest to that. As the war raged on, she gradually grew better at throwing, but she was nowhere near Zevran's prowess. As the snowman's head was toppled off by a poorly-aimed snowball, Alistair emerged from his tent nearby, grumbling at the commotion.

Alistair froze when he made eye contact with a soaked Amrie and Zevran. He took stock of the lumps of snow, the snowballs in each elf's hand, and slowly rose his hands innocently. "I mean no ha—"

As he had taken a minute to take stock of the scene, Amrie and Zevran had shared a glance and a smile, before they threw their weapons simultaneously at Alistair. The human let out a short shriek, before he swore revenge, and entered the battle himself. 

Soon, the entire camp was involved in an every-man-for-himself snowball war. Despite the ferocity of it, there were smiles and rosy noses and cheeks all around, even on Morrigan's face. Sten volunteered to stay in his tent, but nobody minded. The battle ended when the sun was high in the sky, and nobody could throw a snowball for their lives anymore. Somewhere near the end of the war, Zevran had found his way next to Amrie's side once again, and they both sat in the snow, breathless laughter on their lips.

"That is how one properly does a snowball fight," Zevran said with a grin and a glance at Amrie. 

"I'm afraid I left my journal in my tent," Amrie responded. "I can't take any notes this time, sorry." 

Zevran waved a hand, facing forward once more. "I will remind you when the need arises," he said, shoving his hands under his arms.

"Are your hands cold?" she asked, a tad more concerned about the state of his hands than she thought she had any right to be.

"Yes," he answered, with a glance to her. "Are yours not?" 

Amrie shook her head. "Only a little," she remedied when he raised his eyebrow at her. "Let me see," she requested, holding out her hands for his.

Zevran hesitated for a moment, before placing his hands in hers, unsurely. She resisted the urge to marvel at them—the soft roughness from handling knives, the thin fingers—chalking her interest up to how cold they were. She slowly channeled a very gentle heating spell through the palms of her hands, and the relief in his face was immediate.

" _ Oh _ ," he groaned, closing his eyes in bliss. "And I thought  _ I _ had talented hands," he said, opening his eyes with a light chuckle.

"Any more remarks like that and I’ll let your hands freeze off," Amrie promised, though she had to fight back a grin.

"Then I suppose I will have to enjoy this treatment in silence," he pouted, though Amrie could tell by the mirth playing in his eyes that he wouldn't be silent for long. She found she didn't want him to be.


End file.
